Spring Cleaning
by Gosangoku
Summary: England was just so adamant about cleanliness. America supposed he could indulge him just once, if even just for a reward. — US/UK.


He dreamed of a world of peace, where everyone got along and no one thought badly of others. He dreamed that the entire world worked together, hand in hand, to cease battles and prevent wars, and to help each other and aid third world countries. He dreamed that he and England were friends again, that green eyes looked up at him happily, that England smiled at him again, like he did when America was still his colony. He dreamed that England smiled only at him, cooked his terrible food for him, looked after him when he was unwell, ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, cheeks. Lips. All his and his alone, and England looked _only_ at _him_.

He should have known all of that would only happen in his dreams. He woke up to the sound of an alarm screeching in his air, the high frequency sound waves nearly deafening him once they had travelled past his drowsy exterior. He groaned in annoyance and slammed a hand on the alarm clock, hoping his aim was enough to obliterate the irritating clock. It wasn't. He had to whack it twice more before the terrible noise vanished, leaving a predominant silence once more. America was half tempted just to fall back asleep again, but something at the back of his mind reminded him that he was forgetting something. He tried to annihilate the nagging thought mentally, although even the image of blowing up a wall of aggravating thoughts with a bazooka did nothing to vanquish the little voice in his head (which sounded suspiciously _English_).

"Wake _up_, Al--America," a sharp voice ordered irritably. America's sky-blue eyes fluttered open and he blinked away his blurry vision, and gaped when he saw the figure in his dreams looming above him, hands on his hips, mouth in a tight line and green eyes as imperious as ever. "Stop gaping like an idiot. You look gormless," he snapped angrily, completely different than America's dream England, who was kind-hearted and gentle and sweet. He sighed wistfully, closing his eyes again. He should have known England would never act so subservient, but... _I guess that's what makes England... well, England_, he thought, smiling dreamily. "America!"

"Gyah!" Sapphire eyes snapped open again only to cringe and clench shut when blinding light invaded his senses. "Ugh," he groaned and draped an arm over his eyes. "Iggy," he whined childishly, "Shut the curtains... It's too bright!" he moaned.

There was a small pause before England huffed in irritation. He folded his arms and approached America's bed, glowering down at the sleepy nation. Despite himself, he could feel his lips twitching of their own accord. He shook his head to clear his silly paternal thoughts and forced another scowl onto his face. "Don't be stupid," he grumbled. "It's a lovely day. The sun is shining and there's not a cloud in the sky. It's perfect for some spring cleaning," he decided.

When the words registered in America's sleep-fogged brain, he stilled. "...What." It didn't sound like a question. "Wait. Whoa. Hold up, Iggy," he said, removing his arm from his eyes to blink up at a blurry England, who was glowering down at him warningly. "Spring _cleaning_? Are you outta your mind? No, wait, don't answer that. I know you're ca-ra-zay," he declared, grinning mishievously. He laughed sheepishly when the Brit's glare just darkened. "But anyways, spring is meant for, y'know, chocolate and stuff. Not cleaning!"

England rolled his eyes, making a big show of how much he thought of the younger nation's intolerable ideas. "Honestly, America," he drawled, and America felt a bit irritated at the use of such a patronising tone. He wasn't a kid, for fuck sake... "Your house is a bloody mess! If I didn't visit as often as I do, you'd be--" England was cut off by his own gasp as strong, warm arms wrapped around his waist and yanked him down. Bright green eyes were wide in shock and bewilderment before he realised that he was lying on top of the larger country. America's large hands were around his waist, holding him firmly in place, and his own calloused hands were gripping in insufferable git's shoulders. He felt blood rush op to his face and it took all of his will power not to squeal like a girl and knock the twat's lights out. Not trusting his voice, he glared furiously at America, eyes full of accusation, resentment and irritation.

"Chill out, Iggy," America said softly, grinning happily, evidently unperturbed by the older nation's threatening scowl. He was on the receiving end of it often enough, so it didn't bother him too much. He just wished England would smile at him, like he did so often in his dreams... He felt his own cheeks heat up slightly at the memories of a jubilant England, staring at him with a gentle smile, just like all those years ago...

"America?" England's baritone voice cut through his reverie, and America blinked to see his emerald eyes only inches away from his own face. "Are you feeling all right?" Thick brows furrowed, and the Englishman actually had a _concerned_ look on his pale face...

"Y-yeah, yeah, of course! I'm great, Iggy!" he declared happily, grinning sheepishly. He couldn't just start daydreaming about England when that very person was _lying on top of him_... "So, anyways," he started, dismissing the Brit's sceptical look. "Like I said, spring is meant for chocolate, and fun, not cleaning." He smiled languidly, tightening his grip on the Englishman, whose face was as red as Spain's tomatoes. America grinned in response to the flushed face. England was just so cute when he was embarrassed, even though he masked it with anger a lot... "So, c'mon, just snuggle with me for a while. We can spring clean after Christmas."

England twitched irritably. "For goodness sake, America," he muttered, tutting and rolling his green eyes, although his lips were twitching and he seemed more amused than annoyed. "That would be winter cleaning. In any case," he said, not wanting to be distracted. He pushed against his boyfriend's chest (and ignored how his heart pumped harder when the word _boyfriend_ drifted through his mind), squirming slightly to attempt to remove himself from the other man's confines. It was impossible. Not only was America's grasp around his waist rock solid, the brat was indeed as strong as rumours told, as loathe as he was to admit it. England sighed and collapsed back against the wanker's chest, face still bright red. "In any case," he muttered again, sparing a moment to slap the sniggering America lightly on the cheek, "You should clean often. I know you don't, which is why I always busy myself with cleaning when I visit you. The very least you could do is help me with it once a year," he finished with a weary sigh. "Not only did I only arrive here yesterday evening, you..." His already prominent blush became even darker than it already was and he buried his face into America's chest in an attempt to hide it. "I-I'm still a bit... I'm still a bit... sore."

The younger country blinked in confusion before a cat-like grin slapped itself over his face. "Ohhh," he drawled, feeling rather pleased with himself. "Your ass still--"

"_Don't_," England snapped, looking up, lime green eyes wide, embarrassed and accusing. "Don't you dare be vulgar or crude or... J-just help me clean, all right?" He sighed in defeat. America could exhaust him just as hastily as he could infuriate him.

"Aww, fine," the blue-eyed nation replied in a winging tone, although his eyes were sparkling with delight. He loosened his grip on his lover and took great pleasure in the fact that the Brit didn't immediately spring away from him like he would have done when their relationship had first began. Instead, the older blond leaned forward, cupped America's cheeks, and pressed a slightly shy and very gentle kiss to his lips. America felt that England was a rather... _bipolar_ lover. At times he could be domineering, imperious, controlling. But then, other times, he was as sweet, timid and nervous as a freakin' schoolgirl. Often, he was a clash between the two. America could put up with the older man's mood swings, though. He had been doing so for many, many years. He was grinning toothily when England slowly, hesitantly pulled away from the warm kiss. "What did I do to deserve that?" he asked with a chuckle.

England smiled back. "I'm too easy on you," he mused. "You never get off your arse to do any work, and yet as soon as you agree to assist me..." He gave a dramatic sigh before heaving himself up. "I've spent far too much time with you," he said with a tut, shaking his head.

America laughed freely. "Heeey," he whined. "That ain't true! You force me to do paperwork sometimes." England rolled his eyes again. "Besides," he said, sidling up against England and rufling his messy blond hair. The Briton tried to shake him off, but gave up soon enough. He should have been used to this. "You know you _love_ spending time with me."

He received a blush and a smack on the arm for that, but he felt accomplished in spite of aching shoulder. "Come on," England ordered, grabbing the American's wrist and pulling him up. America could easily have remained sitting, allowing the Englishman to tire himself out _attempting_ to yank him up, but he felt nice today. He stood, letting England think he had managed to do so. "Wash up and get dressed. Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. After you've ate, we'll get to work."

"Breakfast...?" America said, smile now strained.

England eyed him warily. "Yes," he answered shortly, folding his arms defensively. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not," the taller man answered airily, smiling a well-practiced smile. "Lookin' forward to it." He saluted the Brit as he sauntered into the bathroom, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of evil that would soon implode his tastebuds.

He took his time showering, both to avoid eating his boyfriend's disgusting cooking and just to generally irritate his temperamental lover. He even brushed his teeth (which he often skipped out on in the mornings) so he would have the lingering taste of bubblegum (he liked the kid's toothpaste better than boring old mint ones. Those ones were for old men. Like England) when he faced the evil burnt cooking, whatever it was his boyfriend was so... _kindly_... concocted. _But_, he lamented thoughtfully, a soft smile coming to his lips that were previously twisted into a grimace. _He means well..._ He felt his face flush slightly as he remembered when they had first become, well, lovers (he still got butterflies thinking that), England had (attempted) to make a cake to commemorate the event. Naturally, it was absolutely terrible. It was burnt and too hard, and there was too much cream outweighing the underlying strawberry, and the icing was all over the place... but when America had seen the circles under the shorter man's eyes, the plasters covering his hands (that he was wringing nervously), and how his green eyes shone hopefully, he just couldn't mention all the flaws. England was just too sweet underneath his fierce scowl and sharp tongue.

"America! What the bloody hell is taking you so long? Get you flaming arse down here _right now_!"

Well, mostly.

America grinned and chuckled to himself as he turned off the shower, shivering slightly when he exited. He wrapped a towell around his waist but didn't bother drying off yet. He grabbed his clothes and jogged downstairs, lips twitching again when he saw England depositing the plates on the table and... "Aww, Iggy!" he cooed happily, approaching his boyfriend from behind, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and nuzzling into the messy but oh-so-soft blond hair. "You made me coffee! That's so sweet!"

He took great delight in the faint blush that settled over England's cheeks, and had to purse his lips to stop himself from _squeeing_ like the girls in Japan's anime. "Sh-shut up, idiot," England muttered, glowering weakly at the floor, and his feigned anger took even less of an effect when he placed his own hands atop America's. "I-I didn't make it for you."

America laughed softly. Of course England had done it for him. It wasn't as if the Brit ever drank any coffee. But in fear of making his Englishman angry, he just squeezed the smaller man before promptly taking his seat on the table and sacrificing his tastebuds to please him. Despite the fact that he would rather drink gallons and gallons of tea to drown out the revolting taste of the terrible cooking, England's smile made it all worth it. So, he ate it all and asked for seconds. Just to see his boyfriend's wonderful smile.

When he had finished his breakfast, he had leaned across the table, smirking at the befuddled look on England's face, and rewarded the Brit with a slow, long, _marvellous_ kiss. Neither battled for dominance; their lips moulded together and their tongues met, mingling shyly, and when they pulled away for air, England blushed brightly. He blinked away the dreamy look that had temporarily vacated his face, and forced a very unbelievable scowl on it instead. He folded his arms tightly, as he usually did when embarrassed. "L-let's get to work," he insisted, pushing America out of the kitchen to find necessary equipment. America whined in response but, when he saw the Englishman smiling and touching his lips out of the corner of his eye, he decided cleaning would be worth it, just to see more of that magnificent smile.

He blinked, confused, when a freakin' _broom_ was thrust into his arms and hit him in the nose. "Oww," he whined, rubbing it and pouting at his busy boyfriend.

England rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby," he admonished, but leaned up to place a chaste kiss on America's nose nonetheless. He hastily turned away to grab his own dustpan and brush, along with a fluffy _thing_... what was it again? The thing that made you sneeze? Oh, yeah, a duster. The Brit then rummaged through the cupboard, brows drawn together in a frown. "Where the bloody hell are those aprons I brought with me last time...?" he murmured to himself.

"I call the blue one," America said, raising his free hand as his other rested on the broom. "Hey, if I have the blue one and attach the red one around my neck, it'll look kinda like a _Superman_ costume!" He laughed cheerily.

Rolling his eyes, England shook his head and tried not to smile at his lover's (_thump thump thump_) childish and endearing thoughts. "Then what would I use? Idiot," he murmured, but it lacked any venom. He tossed the blue apron over to America and dropped his equipment to tie up his own red one at the back. America watched the Brit's quick, fluid movements with wide eyes and his mouth open. England raised a brow. "What?" he murmured defensively, thinking that the git was about to insult him or something...

"You did that so fast!" the American gushed. England blinked. "That was _so_ cool! How'd you get so fast?"

The older nation flushed slightly. Why did his boyfriend's praises have to mean so much to him? "I-it's nothing special," he muttered shyly, eyes staring intently at the floor. "I'm just used to using my hands like that... When I was a pirate, and even now when I do my embroidery..." A warm hand snuck under his chin and his face was tilted up, soft lips planting themselves against his own for a prolonged moment.

America pulled back with a bright grin, and he lifted his hand to poke the smaller man's cheek. "Iggy's so cool~!" he cheered, smiling when the Brit blushed crimson.

England smacked his hand away, glancing to the side nervously. "L-let's just get on with the cleaning," he grumbled, grabbing his dustpan, brush and duster. "You have a bloody huge house," he mumbled. "Where to start...?"

"How's about we start at different sides and meet in the middle?" America suggested, sounding a bit hesitant. He wasn't exactly a strategist, and England often dismissed all of his ideas as stupid. To his pleasant surprise, however, he was rewarded with a smile.

"Mm, good idea," he agreed airily. "Well then, Mr. Jones," he said crisply, extending a hand after a brief struggle in manoeuvring his equipment, "I shall see you in approximately two hours." _And that's if we go fast..._

America grinned toothily, leaning down to press another kiss to his boyfriend's neck, ear, and lips. "Lookin' forward to it, Mr. Kirkland, sir!" he replied with a salute.

England's face erupted into diverse shades of red and, after a brief internal struggle, he leaned up to press a timid kiss to America's cheek. He then promptly spun on his heel and began striding down the hallway. "W-well, hop to it!" he shouted back to his boyfriend, escaping from the American so that he could calm down and let the blood in his face disippate.

America smiled, touching his cheek with his fingertips, feeling the lingering warmth from England's lips. "Yes, sir."

**O-o-O-o-O**

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and he leaned against it for a moment, attempting to regain his composure. _Why is it_, he thought shakily, face still bright red, _That I always lose my composure around him...?_ he wondered as he felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He put his hand over it and closed his eyes. _London, my heart... How you betray me. It had better be Big Ben informing my citizens of the time, because I adamantly refuse to believe it's... _He dropped his hand and let out a small huff. _Stupid America_, he thought. _Making me so... Gah! Stop thinking of him, England. Get on with your work!_ his mind shouted, and he nodded in agreement. He stared at the room in disbelief, twitching slightly. He rolled his eyes and flipped on the lightswitch, only to realise that the mess was even worse than he had imagined. _H-how can a room he never uses be so... so..._ He shook his head in disbelief and put his equipment down. Before dusting, he needed to move some things... Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work on shoving boxes full of goodness-knows-what out of the way. "Blimey," he huffed, wincing as he put all of his strength into shoving the bloody boxes. "Wh-what the bloody hell could he be keeping in here that's so heavy? The queen's jewells?" he grumbled, feeling his legs shaking from the effort. Growling, he tore open the box, blinking in confusion when he saw everything wrapped up in tissue paper. "What...? What does America have that's fragile?" he wondered, frowning in confusion. "He broke the bloody tea set I gave him, so it can't be that..." He moved to grab an item, but hesitated at the last moment. He bit his lip nervously. He shouldn't really... It would not be gentlemanly of him to rifle through someone else's things... _But... this is only America. He won't mind, right? _He briefly wondered why his thoughts sounded so reluctant.

He glanced from side to side worriedly, feeling as if someone could pop up at any given moment and lecture him on basic manners. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to get himself into the mindset of his pirate self, back when plundering, thieving and snooping were privileges that he saw as hobbies. That gave him a bit more courage, but he still felt very disinclined... but he couldn't help himself. Curiosity overwhelming his more reasonable self, England knelt down and carefully picked out a wrapped package. It was square, and rather heavy. He almost dropped it from the weight. He bit his lip again, knawing on it, and very slowly and very carefully unravelled the white tissue paper. His eyes widened as soon as the paper fell from it. He sucked in a quick breath, fingers clenching around the book he held, which was almost an exact replica of his own at home that he often kept under his bed. Steeling himself, he shakily opened the cover, and was instantly met with an onslaught of memories. Nostalgia flooded his mind when he saw big blue eyes staring up at him, full of loyalty and happiness. He saw himself, holding a tiny version of America in his arms, his own eyes half-mast as he smiled softly down at the ball of energy in his arms. He saw a fearful but curious child version of America on top of a horse, gripping its reigns so tightly his knuckles turned white, with England himself standing beside the horse to make sure his colony remained safe. He saw himself, asleep on the sofa with a grinning French man looping his arm around him, mimicking a '_shush!_' gesture to the two colonies who were seated in their laps.

When he felt the edges of his vision begin to blur and his eyes begin to burn and sting, he shut the book with the utmost care, and delicately draped the tissue paper back over it. He set it back in the box slowly, as if afraid to break it, and then sat back and rubbed his eyes, sniffing quickly. "S-stupid bloody dust," he cursed, voice a bit higher than his usual baritone. He shook his head and then rifled through the box again, stopping on something that felt a lot softer than the first item. He hesitantly grasped it and lifted it, placing it in his lap as he removed the paper from it. He didn't pull much off before his eyes widened and he found himself staring, frozen, at the seemingly innocent suit in his lap. He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly feeling tight and painful, as he fingered the material with soft precision. It still felt crisp and new despite how old it was, and felt his breath hitch. _Obviously_, he snapped at himself, hating himself for getting so emotional. _He only wore it once..._ He glared at the suit witheringly, as if blaming it for something, before letting out a broken sigh and gently depositing it back in the box again. His lips twitched weakly, and he managed a watery smile. "Well," he murmured quietly, fisting his apron tightly. "He never did like my taste in attire much," he said, mostly to console himself. Even so, he still felt tears trickling down his cheeks. _It's okay_, he told himself, _No one's here to see..._

**O-o-O-o-O**

_No wonder I never clean_, America thought bitterly, a firm pout on his face as he smacked the broom from side to side carelessly, not even realising he was just knocking dirt back and forth. _It's so boooriiing!_ He sighed irritably and glanced around the room, a bored look on his face. _I'd so much rather be in bed right now. With Iggy. That's _so_ much more fun!_ He grinned wolfishly, giggling impishly behind his hand. He paused, a thought coming to mind. _But... maybe if I do this cleaning crap well... he'll reward me!_ His eyes brightened at the thought and his smile return full-force. He grabbed his broom tighter and held it up like a sword. "_Yosh_!" he said, mimicking the sounds Japan's characters made. "I'll do my best!" he decided, beginning to sweep properly, making dust erupt all around him. "Gyah!" he cried, letting out a huge sneeze. He groaned and rubbed his nose, squinting through the layer of dust. "Oh, man," he murmured as it slowly disappeared into the air. "I guess Iggy's right about cleaning, huh..." He sighed softly, pouting again. "But... it'd be so much easier to do this borin' stuff if Iggy was with me..." He hung his head, slumping slightly as his grip on the broom tightened. _I hate cleaning_, he thought sadly, _Because it always makes me think of bad things..._

Bad things... Memories, spurred by objects. Items. Photos...

His eyes widened. _Oh, no_, he thought, dropping his broom as he swerved and made a mad dash for the door of the room. _I can't let Iggy find anything...!_ He yanked the door open, not caring if he tore it off of its hinges, and sprinted down the hall, bypassing most rooms in favour of...

His lungs were burning from the exertion of running at such a speed, and his legs were tiring, wanting to collapse underneath him, but he just ran on. He ran, twisting around corners until he reached the ominous door that seemed so damn far away.

He halted, frozen in front of the door, listening to the insurmountable silence that was soon destroyed when he finally let the oxygen rush through his lungs and he _breathed_. He could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest, and it felt almost as if it would burst out any second. He wasn't sure whether it was due to exertion, or...

He put his hand on the door knob, almost tempted to just turn and run back and-and even just clean _properly_ just to--

The door creaked open. Swallowing thickly, he took a hesitant step into the room, fists clenched. The light was on. That just confirmed his fears...

"England?" he called softly, glancing around the junk-filled room...

That wasn't full of junk?

"England?" he called again, voice louder. Sharper. Just what had he--?

"'Allo, America," came a tense voice from the corner, and America turned stiffly to see his boyfriend clutching a box desperately. Despite the severity of the situation, and the rather awkward atmosphere, America couldn't help but smile at the sight of his apron-clad boyfriend attempting to hold up a too-heavy box. He stepped closer to his boyfriend and easily lifted the box, offering a sheepish grin when England scowled. His smile slowly disintegrated and he looked down nervously.

"Say, England," he murmured worriedly, eyes trained on the ground as he shuffled from side to side uncomfortably.

"What?" England snapped in resposne, busying himself by turning his back to America and pretending to rifle through something, muttering about dust and dirt. Despite his usual berates and insults being muttered, America noticed England's frenzied movements, how he appeared nervous, and how he was avoiding his gaze.

"What did you see?"

England froze for a moment, but soon regained himself. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're on about, America," he groused, still staring intently in the box of junk that he was pretending to sort. It was getting on America's nerves. He dumped the box on the floor and approached his jittery boyfriend, wrapping an arm around the man's waist and resting his head on the man's tense shoulder. With his free hand, he delicately rummaged through the box, seemingly searching for something. He could feel the Brit slowly relax back into the embrace as he looked. Finally, his fingers wrapped around something small and smooth. He grasped it and pulled it out of the box, easily unwrapping it from its thin layer of paper. He didn't miss England's intake of breath as a little innocent figurine of an English guard was revealed. The innocuous figure stared back, carefully painted on eyes staring up at both of the nations unrelentingly. England licked his dry lips, feeling his throat hurt and eyes sting. "Y-you... You kept... You kept them," he stuttered helplessly, voice hitching.

The American smiled softly as he examined the little figure. He planted a gentle kiss to the side of his boyfriend's neck. "Of course," he replied quietly. "Back then, I was kinda careless... Well, I still sorta am," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. "But... you injured your arm whilst making these for me. You really..." He carefully placed the little meaningful figure back in its tissue paper and thread his own figures through England's, lifting their hands to plant a loving kiss on the Brit's hand. He smiled against their hands when he heard the smaller man's breath hitch again. "You really loved me enough... to do something like that." He kissed the man's shoulder, his neck, and then his jaw.

"You berk," the older nation whispered fondly, twisting in the embrace to turn and face his lover. He raised his free hand to cup the grinning fool's cheek and brushed his lips against his boyfriend's. "I still love you. Too much for my own good," he added as an afterthought, grinning cheekily in response to America's forlorn pout. Chuckling softly, he offered a fleeting butterfly kiss as an apology for it. He was soon forgiven.

"That was a sissy kiss," America then decided, grinning impishly in response to the bitter glare he received. He pressed his lips against England's, nibbling pleadingly at the older man's already-abused lower lip, and the Brit moaned wantonly, gladly parting his lips. He squeezed America's hand and thread his free one through the man's sunshiney hair. He felt the arm around his waist tighten, pulling him flush against the larger body. America almost shyly slipped his tongue into England's mouth, spurred on when he received a mewl as a reward. England grazed his teeth along the American's tongue teasingly, if hesitantly, and the younger man grinned into the kiss. He felt England smile back. Remembering the need for air, they reluctantly pulled away, lips still lingering, the electrifying butterflies still fizzling through them, and a small trail of saliva still connecting their reddened lips. England, once he had regained his breath, flushed deeply and rubbed his mouth, averting his gaze timidly. America just grinned and nuzzled against his cheek. "Now _that_ was a kiss," he remarked, rubbing circles against the Brit's hand.

"Hmm," England hummed in reply, smiling languidly. "I'm inclined to agree." He shook his head to snap himself out of his daze. "In any case, we should get on with the cleaning. I moved most of the boxes out of the way, but... well, some are a bit too heavy." He scowled at the grinning American, just _daring_ the brat to put a toe out of line. America mimed zipping his lips and England shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'll get a hoover if you can move the rest of this... stuff." He made a face, and America chuckled at the sight of his lover's pout. With a final kiss, he squeezed the smaller man's hand before saluting him again, grin bright enough to rival the sun. "Yes, sir!" he repeated.

**O-o-O-o-O**

"Oh my God," America groaned tiredly, just wanting to collapse on the floor _right there_. "Are we _done_ yet?" he whined pathetically, tugging on England's sleeve.

The Brit rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. _America, you prick_, he thought, _I can't stop smiling around you..._ "We've just got the garden now, and then you can immerse yourself in video games," he drawled, patting his red apron to whack off some dust. His nose twitched (_Similarly to a bunny rabbit_, America thought) when he felt a weird fizzy sensation. _Bloody dust, setting my hay fever off..._ "Come on then," he said, opening the front door and taking a deep breath, beaming at the wonderfully blue sky (America's eyes), the astonishing sun (America's hair), and the magnificent sturdy trees and beautiful plants that lined his stone pathways. He shook his head, smile becoming broader when he spotted the white and red roses he brought to America every year... "You've been taking care of them..." he whispered softly, heart thumping for yet another inexplicable reason.

America blinked, bewildered, before following the other man's line of sight and seeing the marvellous roses that lined his garden. He grinned, cheeks pinking slightly. "Ahahaha," he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head embarrassedly. "Y-yeah... I mean, you're awesome enough to bring me them every year, so... I should be awesome enough to make them even awesomer by taking care of them!"

"Because you're a hero," England finished, rolling his eyes. He was still smiling though. America grinned back and grabbed his boyfriend's hand, swinging their arms lightly.

"Not just _a_ hero!" he declared. "I'm _the_--"

He was cut off when lips were pressed against his. England drew back, smirking lightly, and muttered, "_My_ hero."

America realised that that was the first time he had out-blushed England. He didn't mind too much.

"Now, let's set to work. America, go grab the hose, would you?" he asked distractedly as he set to work on prying off some dead flowers and trimming the stems. He missed the predatory gleam and playful smirk on his lover's face as he retreated to snag the hose.

He giggled evilly to himself as he disentangled the dark green hose from it's previous snake-like position. He picked it up and turned the tap on. It was a bit rusty, and it creaked when he turned it, but it turned on easily enough due to his wonderful convenient strength. As soon as he had twisted the tap on, and the water began squirting out of the hose, his grin broadened and he held it up to England, taking great delight as the huge flow of H20 burst out of the hose and covered the unsuspecting Brit, drenching him instantly. For one, blissfully quiet moment, England could not comprehend what had occurred. Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head, eyes trained on America, and he stood. He tore his gardening gloves off, tossing them to the side, and yanked off his red apron.

America's grin faltered, thinking he had gone too far. "I-Iggy...?"

And then England leaped on him. He pinned him to the grass, and the hose flew around wildly, drenching the both of them within seconds as they rolled around on the bright green grass. They tossed and turned, both attempting to finally pin the other to the now-wet grass. They fought for a total of five minutes before America finally pinned England's arms to the ground, intertwining their fingers, and they lay, panting and laughing and kissing in between breaths.

**O-o-O-o-O**

The sky was darkening. The previously blindingly bright sun had fallen, now burnt umber against the horizon, and the orange glow drifted through America's thin blinds, decorating the living room in gentle patches of warm light. America collapsed on the sofa, and England fell down next to him, immediately lying his head against America's shoulder. Yawning, the taller man wrapped one arm around his beloved and grinned down at the Brit lovingly. "I guess you were right, Iggy," he lamented, twirling one finger through the messy blond hair. "Cleaning can be fun. Still, exhausting as hell. Tomorrow, we exhaust ourselves _my_ way - Iggy? Iggy, are you even listening to me? Oi, Arthur...?" He ducked down a bit to catch at glimpse of his boyfriend's face... and his own features softened considerably when he saw green eyes were closed, and the Brit's normally troubled face was now relaxed and dreamy. "Aww, all right," he murmured softly, lowering his voice. He kissed the man's forehead sweetly and pulled him closer. "I'll let ya sleep. We'll have more fun tomorrow. G'night, Arthur. I love you."

Even though he was nearly completely unconscious, the words drifted through the Englishman's mind and he managed to whisper, "I love you too..."

**O-o-O-o-O**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**Okay, so this is kind of a thank-you present for all the people who have spared their time to write me wonderful reviews, and to celebrate spring. :) There was going to be smut, but... I didn't feel like writing anything M-rated today, and I thought a hesitant/sweet relationship would be cute. -**_**Prefers romance and cute things above smut. I know, I'm not exactly living up to the normal standards of most of the male population nowadays... Garhhh.**_**- I'll provide you with some of... **_**those**_** activities another time. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this random oneshot. XD I found it quite fun writing this for whatever reason... I far prefer sweet and innocent above, well, fiendish and sexual... I know, it's hard to believe I'm a teenager and not a boring old man or something...**

**Special shout-out to **_**Suzume-Chiyu**_**! Thanks for all of your awesomeness. XD**

**And thanks to all you guys for the reviews! :)**

**- Gosan.**


End file.
